


hope mikaelson and the world's most unintentionally erotic solo wet T-shirt contest that absolutely no one asked for

by novoaa1



Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: Bisexual Lizzie Saltzman, F/F, idk - Freeform, lizzie saltzman and her mental health doin the thing, lizzie saltzman calling landon various unsavory nicknames, lizzie saltzman's inner monologue, they get together nd its cute, uhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2019-12-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21834412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: “Wh—You—What thehellare you doing?”Lizzie shrugged, fighting to retain a certain degree of nonchalance even as she had to suck her lips inward in an effort not to smirk. “What’s it look like? I’m having a soak.”Hope’s eye twitched, her intent gaze finally coming to meet Lizzie's. “It’s 6:00am.”Lizzie hummed noncommittally in response, refusing to waver. “Your point?”“You’re never awake this early.”“So?”“So, it’s—it’s—"“Would you like to join me?”“Wh—" Hope choked out, the pinkish blush upon her cheeks intensifying tenfold even while Lizzie bemusedly looked on, “What?"Or: It all starts with Hope and a wet T-shirt. Things evolve (or devolve, depending on how you look at it) from there.
Relationships: Hope Mikaelson/Lizzie Saltzman, Josie Saltzman & Lizzie Saltzman, past Lizzie Saltzman/Sebastian
Comments: 13
Kudos: 209





	hope mikaelson and the world's most unintentionally erotic solo wet T-shirt contest that absolutely no one asked for

**Author's Note:**

> ok i diD get done with finals but now i gotta pack adn stuff so like i'm gonna come back n edit this later so pls overlook any super glaring errors even tho i think i got them all? *shrugs noncommittally* who can say

Lizzie Saltzman is _not_ , nor has she ever been, some doe-eyed teenaged moron who falls half in love every time a semi-attractive person (human or otherwise) with drool-worthy assets happens across her path.

She’s _not_ , okay? 

Maybe she just knows how to, like, appreciate _art_.

Because fine, maybe she’d lasted approximately 0.2 seconds after Sebastian (that infuriatingly gorgeous nuisance of a centuries-old blood-sucking leech) stripped himself half-naked (with absolutely zero warning, mind you) in some absolutely classless ploy to make her forgo her better instincts in favor of focusing all her (admittedly capricious) attentions upon that aggravating smirk of his and the undeniable magnetism buzzing palpably between the two of them all the while, not even to mention the way each and every muscle in that stupidly attractive body jumped and flexed with even the slightest of movements, driving her utterly insane with the need to touch, the need to feel the solidness of his body so insistently upon hers, squeezing and stroking and writhing until it seemed that nothing else in the world possibly could have mattered. 

Whatever, alright? It happens. 

But you know what doesn’t happen? Or, perhaps more aptly—you know what _shouldn’t_ happen?

This. Now. Right here. 

Because fine, it’s not like Lizzie’s a stranger to pretty girls that put even Sebastian’s maddening charm to shame, to pretty girls with gorgeous smiles and lurid eyes that glimmer like a setting sun setting the rippling water ablaze at dusk and make Lizzie wonder why in the world she’d ever been so intently focused on boys and _only_ boys to begin with, not while there was a whole other breed of beautiful creatures to consider alongside the former. 

Yes, Lizzie had long ago made peace with her own latent (—well, not so latent any longer, she supposes—) bisexuality; over the years, she’d come to even revel in it. 

And, this? This is _so_ not Lizzie’s fault

It’s not _Lizzie’s_ fault that Hope freaking Mikaelson decided that today was as good a time as any to participate in what appears to be the world’s most unintentionally erotic solo wet T-shirt contest that absolutely no one asked for, because she’s running around the halls of Salvatore absolutely drenched wearing nothing but ( _you guessed it!_ ) a sheer white V-neck tee that’s clinging to each and every exquisite curve of her frustratingly toned form like a second freaking skin. 

She’s also wearing a fashionably ripped (though also thoroughly soaked) pair of unreasonably tight blue jeans—which, when combined with the whole apparent ‘wet T-shirt’ issue, just serves to make Lizzie wish more than anything that she’d just stayed in bed today… but, whatever.

Then, she’s dragging Lizzie into _her own room_ by the hand like that’s somehow a normal occurrence (which, to clarify: it’s _not_ ) and slamming the door behind them as something of an afterthought with a murmured spell ( _God, that’s hot_ , Lizzie can’t help but think) and whirling around to face Lizzie with a quirked brow and expectant blue-green-eyed gaze, like Lizzie has even the faintest clue of where to start with all of… _that_.

“We have a problem,” Hope tells her then with scarcely concealed urgency, all wide eyes and genuine insistence and a sort of endearing vulnerability they’ve only just begun to show with one another shown all across her ~~heavenly~~ features that has Lizzie immediately opening up her mouth to acquiesce before she can really think better of it:

“How can I help?”

And, true to her ~~amazing, drool-worthy, unequivocally impeccable~~ form, Hope doesn’t miss a single beat: “Okay, so there’s another monster on the loose and I need you to channel Landon and cast a spell to… "

(Really, Lizzie doesn’t know why she bothers.) 

🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙

So, fine, perhaps Lizzie’s answer to what she’s begun to refer to in her scattered brain as the ‘Wet T-Shirt Incident of Mid-October’ was a bit juvenile, as comebacks go.

But, whatever, okay? Because, yes, Lizzie Saltzman was a great many things—self-proclaimed influencer, on-the-spot snarky commentary enthusiast, possible mad-as-a-March-hare head case… but, she was not passive nor idle (never had been), and she took pride in that virtue, because it _mattered_. (And, to her, it still very much does.)

And, when someone takes her by surprise, when someone manages to one-up her (even unintentionally so), she can’t just be powerless beneath it, all motionless and passively accepting, like the metaphorical doormat she always swore to herself she’d never be. 

She’s seen the way it tortures Josie, the way it grates and eats away at her until the anger simmering hotly beneath the surface grows ferocious enough to drive her nearly _mad_ with the sheer momentousness of it (even if her softer-spoken twin would never cop to it).

She’s seen that, and she refuses to let it tarnish her, too. 

No, her mistakes will be different from Josie’s—they _have_ to be, because she doesn’t quite know what she’ll do if they aren’t, if she doesn’t succeed at _making_ them so. 

But, she’ll digress—all that to say, maybe her reaction was juvenile ( _childish_ , even), but could you really blame her?

First, Hope struts around Salvatore in nothing but an outfit (if one could call it that) composed entirely of altogether soaked-through clothing (clothing that was already skin-tight to begin with before the whole… whatever had happened to make it all wet and clingy and needlessly distracting, mind you) and tugging Lizzie _by the hand_ into _her own room_ to garner her help as if Lizzie cares in the slightest about whatever Malivore-ian monstrosity is after their residential floppy-haired garden gnome this time.

And, so, fine, maybe Lizzie wanted to even the score. 

And yea, maybe what with the whole ‘it still being October’ thing, it wasn’t exactly seasonally appropriate to strip down into her favorite cerulean-blue bikini and take an impromptu dip out in the lake-turned-hot-spring (courtesy of a quick spell Lizzie had found in the witches’ archives back in the Salvatore library) on the outskirts of the property at the exact moment and time that she knew Hope would be returning from one of those early-morning runs she occasionally embarked upon… But, hell if it wasn’t totally worth it to watch the typically so self-assured Hope Mikaelson tripping over her own sneaker-clad feet and face-planting with an audible grunt into the chill-hardened dirt underfoot upon being confronted with the sight of a half-naked Lizzie lowering herself sensually into the steaming waters beneath the placid yellowy-golden rays of breaking dawn, because, God, was it _so_ totally worth it. 

Lizzie had lain comfortably back against the relatively smooth rocky ledge behind her, making a conscious effort to ensure the heated water level only barely reached her belly button as she watched a furiously blushing Hope scramble back up to her feet to shoot Lizzie a murderous look caught halfway between visceral annoyance and unabashed appraisal, impossibly blue eyes (tinted with the barest hints of verdant green) darting this way and that (landing everywhere but on Lizzie) as if desperately unsure of where to place her wide-eyed gaze. 

Eventually, though, Lizzie had taken pity on her—after all, she wasn’t heartless: “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

Hope’s eyes had bulged comically then as she sputtered over her next words, a sight Lizzie positively reveled in to witness. “Wh—You—What the _hell_ are you doing?”

Lizzie shrugged, fighting to retain a certain degree of nonchalance even as she had to suck her lips inward in an effort not to smirk. “What’s it look like? I’m having a soak.”

Hope’s eye twitched, her intent gaze finally coming to meet Lizzie's. “It’s 6:00am.”

Lizzie hummed noncommittally in response, refusing to waver. “Your point?”

“You’re never awake this early.”

“So?”

“So, it’s—it’s—"

“Would you like to join me?”

“Wh—" Hope choked out, the pinkish blush upon her cheeks intensifying tenfold even while Lizzie bemusedly looked on, “ _What?_ "

_Oh, this was going to be fun_.

🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙

Weeks later, when they’re laid up in Hope’s bed between the covers, trading whispered secrets and tentative confessions and larger-than-life secrets that don’t feel nearly so all-consuming when it’s just the two of them hiding where no one else can see, Hope will tell her that that first time with the soaked-through tee and vehement urgency and yet another problem on their hands that she just simply needed Lizzie to help instead of Josie… that maybe that wasn’t so accidental, that maybe Hope _wanted_ Lizzie to see her like that in some roundabout effort to discern whether or not what she felt was requited, because she couldn’t bear to outright say it if there was even the slightest chance it wasn’t. 

And, Lizzie will answer in kind, telling Hope that maybe their encounter at the break of dawn on that chilly morning in October wasn’t so incidental, either, because Lizzie had been just as scared as Hope that rejection was imminent if she dared be any more forthright with the weight of her underlying attraction to one she never dreamed she’d long for so intently as she did. 

The two of them will laugh then at the absurdity of it all, at the time they wasted in needless fear of a fallout that would never presume to come… but, they’ll agree that it was worth it—the tension, the uncertainty, the wait. 

And, really, Lizzie will think that’s all that truly matters: that it was worth it. 

(Hope will agree, too, when Lizzie voices her consideration, and that’ll only further solidify what the two of them already know—that it was worth it.

That _they_ were worth it.

Lizzie’s never been one for God or heaven or religion in general, but when it’s late at night and an unconscious Hope is breathing deeply beside her in their bed and Lizzie’s contorted thoughts are threatening to get the best of her all over again, she'll pray that she never stops believing that.

And, sometimes, she’ll think it feels like maybe there’s someone up there, looking down on her and listening to her fractured prayers.

God, she hopes so.)

🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙 🝙

**Author's Note:**

> thots?
> 
> also here’s the link to my 


End file.
